


Can't Take My Eyes off of You

by thehorrorinsymmetry



Series: angel's birthday extravaganza [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Trans Poe, finn's an actor, nonbinary finn, poe's a librarian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 11:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12747315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehorrorinsymmetry/pseuds/thehorrorinsymmetry
Summary: As an actor, Finn's used to exploring a character's story and finding what makes them tick, what's truly important to them. It turns out it's pretty nice when he does it for himself too.





	Can't Take My Eyes off of You

**Author's Note:**

> part two of angel's birthday fics!! also part one of three for this universe because i adore it w my whole heart angel and i come up with the best aus and i wish i had time to explore them more
> 
> i didn't have enough time to really do this fic justice but i care about it so much finn is amazing and he deserves everything good

This should not be difficult.

Finn has worn makeup a million times. He's been transforming himself for roles since he was a kid. He wears foundation to every public event, has spent countless hours in a chair while someone puts makeup on him for a shoot. He's done it all - he's played people from all sorts of backgrounds, people that wear suits and ill fitting, worn out clothes, he's been a superhero in spandex, he's even played male characters that have worn dresses for one reason or another.

This should just be another role.

He did not accept the role on a whim. He's already a publicly gay man trying to maintain an acting career without being typecast into a career as the gay best friend. He’s never taken a role without properly thinking through it - overthinking, really - not since he'd been able to start being choosy about the work he does.

It's just another role.

Except it isn't.

He stares at himself in the mirror. Finn looks back at him, the movie star, the loving and very much loved partner, the orphan boy that made it to the big time. A man of many hats.

A man.

And therein lies the rub.

No matter how you look at him, through a public or personal lens, whether it's a perfect stranger or someone he's known for years,  _ man _ is one of the - if not  _ the _ \- most integral parts of his identity.

It's also the part that he's the least sure about.

He's never felt like a man, really. He's not even sure what it's  _ supposed _ to feel like, although he does know what's it's not.

It didn't feel like being 8 and wanting to play with the dolls his foster parents had for their daughter.

It didn't feel like being 12 and being told that boys don't keep stuffed animals, that boys don't cry, that boys don't like pretty flowers, that boys hate pink.

It didn't feel like being 18 at prom with a heavy, longing pulling at him every time a girl walked by in a beautiful dress.

It doesn't feel like being 26 and his heart racing as he says yes, yes he’ll play a nonbinary person, a person that doesn't call themselves a man or woman, that wears what they want to wear, that is wholly themselves.

It doesn't feel like shaking as he read the script, dizzy at the rush of some part of himself he's locked away making itself known, the discomfort in his chest easing, settling in a way it never has before. 

He's talked about it with Poe, a bit. Poe was as supportive and amazing as he always is, reminded Finn just how much he loves him, but - well. It's hard to try to get Poe to understand when he's never really figured it out himself. 

Short of wearing some lingerie for Poe a handful of times - a really, really good handful of times - he's never explored this sort of thing. It's like there's a wall, a barrier in his head that's kept this from himself for his entire life. He's an adult, he's got such a wonderful life, has been so successful in his career, exploring this part of himself shouldn't feel like such a monumental event, and yet -

And yet it does.

He looks down at the handful of brushes laid out on the counter. He runs his finger over the cool plastic of the handle, the soft bristles on the head that almost tickle his fingertip. His usual foundation is open, the packed powder worn away from endless public events, but next to it there's a brand new tube of mascara and an eyeliner pencil, an eyeshadow palette in soft, neutral colours. There’s a black tube sitting under the personal mirror that he knows will reveal a soft pink lipstick when opened.

He takes a deep breath.

It's fine.

Poe is reading downstairs, almost definitely still curled up in the spot Finn had left him. He knows why Finn's up here, what he's doing, was totally normal when he squeezed Finn's arm and told him to come get him if he needed anything.

He can do this.

He picks up the foundation brush.

He can do this.

His body knows this routine well, his fingers moving on their own accord while his mind is busy with thoughts of what comes next, speeding the powder across his skin.

The couple of minutes it takes pass by quickly, each motion blending into the next with the small differences on his skin. He keeps moving after he's finished, picks up the eyeshadow palette before he has time to think about it.

He looks over the different colours and brushes the tip of his pinkie finger over a shade slightly lighter than his skin. It gleams, shining in an understated kind of way.

It's pretty.

He picks up another brush and collects some of the powder on it, tries to remember the motions he's seen makeup artists use on his female costars countless times. It feels similar to putting on foundation but as he watches himself in the mirror it stands out, already makes his eyes look different from what he’s so used to seeing. The single shade hardly matches up to the kind of glamour he's been around for years now but it makes his heart race all the same.

This isn't the makeup trailer, he's not sitting in Rose’s chair at an ungodly hour of the morning trying to stay awake while she gets him ready for the day. He's sitting in his own bathroom, smack dab in the middle of a break between projects, his boyfriend downstairs with their dog.

This is just him.

He picks up the eyeliner.

It feels foreign in his hand, the fine tip of the pen a far cry from the wide brushes he's used to. He pulls the small mirror closer, tilts it only to end up putting it back where it had already been. His reflection stares back at him, waits for him to do something. 

His fingers feel heavier, clumsier as he tries to glide the eyeliner over the edge of his eyelid in something resembling a straight line. Before he reaches the corner of his lid his eye twitches, the eyeliner spiking halfway up his lid.

Fuck.

He takes a deep breath.

It washes off easily enough, only takes a second for him to reapply the eyeshadow. This time he has an idea what to expect and he moves a little faster, holding his breath tight in his lungs. It takes a moment to drag his gaze back to the mirror once he's put the eyeliner down but - it's not half bad.

It's kind of pretty, really.

It's just his eye, conspicuous against the rest of his face, but the black of the eyeliner makes his eye stand out, enhances the curl of his eyelashes.

He releases the breath he'd been holding and picks the eyeliner up again.

The left eye is trickier, a more awkward angle but he manages it well enough. It only takes a minute before his eyes are matching - mostly matching, related if not quite identical. It's a simple change, a basic line across his eyelids, but he looks completely different in the mirror. Softer, in a way.

He bites his lip as he applies the mascara. It's a simple enough action, something he's seen done countless times even if he hasn't done it himself, so straightforward that his focus drifts from the action itself to the way his lashes somehow get longer, growing thicker right in front of him.

His eyes fall shut, heavy under the strange weight of the makeup. He breathes in, and out. In, and out.

Nothing happens.

The world doesn’t implode, acid doesn’t rain down from the skies, nothing. Not so much as a peep because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with what he’s doing. 

A weight lifts off his shoulders as he opens his eyes. It’s easy to pick up the tube of lipstick, twist it to reveal the soft pink shade. It glides over his lips, smooth as silk, leaving a trace of pale pink in its wake. He opens his mouth the way he's seen done but starts to smile and has to pause before his top lip is done. 

He drags his lips between his teeth, feels the lipstick smooth on his mouth.

He looks up into the big mirror and his reflection smiles back.

He's pretty. Beautiful, even.

He stares at his reflection, at the face in the mirror - at  _ his _ face - his eyes that stand out bright on his face, his mouth that looks soft. 

It feels good.

He blinks, taking a deep breath, smiling in the mirror.

It feels good.

He blinks, takes a deep breath, releasing the air in a rush, a quiet breath of laughter.

It feels really good.

Finn Johnson is wearing makeup and he looks good.

He  _ feels _ good.

He stands up and glances at himself one more time before he moves to the large bag hanging on the bathroom door. The zipper on the bag slides open easily, the bag giving way and revealing the soft silver material draped on the hangar. 

He folds the bag with probably more care than the plastic strictly needs. The dress lays against the door, completely innocuous in all its beauty.

His heart races as he glides his hands over the fabric.

He strips down to his underwear, piles his clothes on the counter. The dress has a small zipper at the back that catches on the fabric when he pulls it. He freezes, reflexively dropping the fabric. He absolutely cannot break the dress before he can even wear it. 

When he picks it up again he keeps the fabric taut, his breath caught in his throat until it's open. It slides off the hangar easily, so light that it almost feels like it's not even really there. 

The base of the skirt pools on the floor as he lowers it, a waterfall of cool greys and blues. Careful to avoid landing on the fabric he steps into the dress and pulls it up, the fabric gliding over his legs, his hips, settling cool on his torso. His arms twist as he tries to do the zipper up again but it slides up easily enough once he gets the clasp done up. He has to push at the end but it's worth it when it slides into place with a resounding  _ zip _ .

Okay.

He's wearing a dress. He's wearing a beautiful dress, a dress for himself,  _ as _ himself. It flows over his body, a little tight across his chest but then the skirt flows out, draping down his body in a way that feels wonderful.

He shifts his hips and watches the way the material moves with him. He takes a step forward, the fabric almost fluid-like in the way it shifts around him.

He takes a deep breath and gives into the energy humming beneath his skin, spinning in place. The skirt flows out, lifts away from him only to curl around him when he stops.

He laughs. A kind of giddiness bubbles in his chest and he spins again, lifts onto his toes, jumps back to watch the skirt flow. 

He smooths his hands over the bodice and down the skirt, glancing up in the mirror.

Oh.

A few thoughts fly through his mind in quick succession - the thin straps of the dress make his shoulders look bigger, how his flat chest leaves the top of the dress a little looser than the waist, that the thin fabric somehow makes his body look thicker - but he ignores them all. 

It feels right.

The dress that hugs him and twirls around him, the soft colours blended on his face, the sight of his reflection - the reflection that belongs to him, that  _ is _ him - it feels just as good as he'd thought it would. This is him.

This is real.

The dress curls around him as he steps closer to the mirror, his gaze catching on the slight sheen of his eyeshadow.

He walks up and down the bathroom a few times to feel the movement of the dress and with one last glance in the mirror he leaves the bathroom.

His lungs seem to shrink again as he walks through their bedroom and towards the stairs that lead to Poe, holding only a fraction of the air that they're supposed to. He  _ wants _ to show Poe, but - but now that he's uncovered this from where he'd so completely shoved it away he doesn't -

He shuts that thought down. 

Poe is the kindest man he's ever met, he's been nothing less than completely supportive since they met - even when Finn had hidden the kind of life he had for the first month of their relationship. Besides, Poe's hardly invested in the whole rigid gender binary thing.

He loves him so much.

He takes a handful of the delicate fabric and pulls the front of the skirt up above his feet and steps onto the staircase.

Poe - his partner of over a year, the love of his life, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with - is exactly where Finn had left him. Curled up on the couch, holding a book up, only the back of his head visible to Finn.

He stops at the base of the stairs, runs his hands up and down the dress. “Poe?”

Poe twists around. He stares at Finn, his mouth hanging open as his gaze roams over him.

“Uh, Poe?”

Poe blinks. He jumps up and drops his book on the coffee table, smiling as he steps closer to Finn. He pauses with a bit of space between them, puts his hands on Finn's waist, warm and strong. “You look beautiful.”

He lets out the breath he was holding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Poe breathes.

“It's not - too much?”

Poe’s hands run to his back and pulls him closer. “Does it feel like too much?”

He leans into Poe, grateful for Poe holding him, keeping him on the ground as the bubbles in his chest escape in a laugh. “It feels so good.”

“You look amazing, Finn.” Poe nuzzles his cheek. “I like your dress.”

“I love you.” He wraps his arms around Poe's shoulders and hugs him tight as something euphoric rushes through his veins, into his heart, somewhere it's going to stay. “So much, Poe.”

Poe rubs his back, his palm splayed open on bare skin when he finds the low back of the dress. “I love you too.”

He kisses Poe. It's different from kissing when one of them has lip balm on, not quite as smooth. Poe doesn't seem to mind, going by the way he kisses Finn back, holds onto him tighter.

When they break apart Poe has pink smeared over his mouth. He laughs, thumbs it off, feels Poe smile under his touch. “I guess we’re gonna have to get used to that, huh.”

He rakes his fingers over the back of Poe's neck and wonders for a moment if it worth be worth cancelling his plans so he could propose to Poe now.

“You're just too good to be true,” Poe sways, pulls Finn ever so slightly to one side, murmuring against his cheek. “I can't take my eyes off of you.”

Poe's voice lilts, a soft melody. He laughs and hides his face against Poe's neck, but lets Poe push him back a step. “Poe, you -”

“You are like heaven to touch,” Poe noses at the side of his head and takes another step, begins to lead them around the living room. “I wanna hold you so much.”

“You are, literally right now.”

Poe keeps rocking them around the room as he sings another verse, his eyes twinkling when Finn meets his gaze. They smile at each other, one of Poe's hands migrating up Finn's back and along his arm until he drops one hand into Poe's.

Poe slows them down until they're barely moving, swaying almost in place.

He could stay here forever.

Poe pulls back suddenly, tugging him into a spin that almost throws him off balance. “Poe!”

“I love you baby,” Poe sings out, bright and loud, just as warm as the soft tone he'd been using a moment ago. “And if it's quite alright I need you baby, to warm the lonely nights.”

Poe tugs him close again and kisses his cheek. “I love you baby, trust in me when I say,”

He spins when Poe raises their joined hands into the air, his skirt twirling around him, Poe's hand warm when he cups Finn's hip again. 

“Oh pretty baby, don't bring me down I pray, my pretty baby,” Poe quiets down now that they're closer again, those ridiculous eyelashes fluttering when his gaze drops to Finn's mouth. “Now that I've found you stay,”

He wraps his arm around Poe's shoulder and watches his partner - boyfriend, almost fiancé, future husband - serenade him in their home.

“And let me love you, baby,”

He cups Poe's cheek, feels the rough stubble against his skin, the warmth that tells him they're alive.

He flashes back to when he was 8 and the doll he'd been getting ready for her wedding was ripped from her hands, when he was 12 and couldn't get a pink t-shirt, through the countless moments that made him feel wrong, like he didn't fit into something that he had never understood in the first place. Every moment that led up to him taking this role, ordering the dress and the makeup and forcing the words to come out when he sat down with Poe.

Every moment he had to fight to keep going, every moment that led to being in a gorgeous dress and in his love’s arms.

“Let me love you,”

There's no words that come anywhere close to what he wants to say, how deeply and fundamentally he wants to say yes, he will, he does, for the rest of their lives. He tilts Poe's head and kisses him instead, tries to pour everything he's feeling, every ounce of happiness this man has given him into the kiss.

He has to reapply his lipstick after, but with the way Poe watches him in the mirror he finds he doesn't mind it so much.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> [OH also this is the dress](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DM826r1WkAEqaxX.jpg)


End file.
